Disposal

 We’re currently driving around with a box of medical waste from my most recent turn as a recipient of IV antibiotics at home.  The last time I had one of these boxes I had to take it to the hospital on one of my follow up visits and got sent from place to place like Batman trying to get rid of a bomb in the Adam West movie version until finally I took it to the lab, put it on the reception counter, said to the nearest person “I was told to drop this off here” and bolted as much as someone with my damaged limbs can bolt.

Now they give you a box with a mailing label that you have to take to the post office and mail to a disposal facility.  Unfortunately, every time we’ve been at a post office to mail letters the lines to mail packages have been longer than we were comfortable standing in so back to the car it goes.

Is it the weirdest thing we can’t get rid of?  Not unless you think my father’s old prosthetic leg is weirder.

We inherited that when my now-late sister moved to Florida.  My father had lived with her the last year of his life and they don’t bury you with your non-biological parts.  So the leg stayed with her until it came to me and I tried to figure out if we could donate it for parts.  You might think that people would be lining up for something like that but no, it’s exceedingly difficult to find a charity that would disassemble the thing.  They’re custom fit so it would only be the lower leg and foot that are of use to another person. The one charity I found that might have taken it was out of business, and that was before the pandemic.  I can’t imagine I’ll find someone to take it any time soon. 

At least the milkman takes our milk bottles back, so we got that going for us.